Title: Kettle's Knot
Author: Signs Of Sun
Type: Numb3rs Series
Genre: Action/Adventure.
Note: For any readers who are also CSI readers and are awaiting my next Touched By Gravity chapter we are looking at next weekend or the one after. I know I had gotten a few messages about it. It's been a case of no time. I've been working full time, part time second job, and getting ready to go back for a second degree (Criminal Justice. YAY!). But I have a glorious window of opportunity before next semester begins to be a fan fiction writing machine. I'm all geared up to spend the rest of the summer with all my favorite characters!
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Kettle's Knot
"So this is what I have been reduced to? Or rather promoted to I guess," Don muttered to his desk, computer, and lamp. His late night companions offered no comment or reassurance. Exhaustion had him considering for a fraction of a second that they actually might. He would have sworn that his light had actually backed him up an hour earlier when he'd been searching for a file lost in the shuffle. Maybe his vision had gone blurry from lack of sleep but hadn't the lamp nodded to the left a little, directing him where the file was located? Shaking his head, Don pulled open his middle desk drawer and rummaged around in the debris there. Finally spotting the box of Bandaids he scooped them up and slid the drawer closed while eyeing his little adjustable desk lamp suspiciously.
"We never had this talk, got it?" he whispered, throwing a wink in the light's direction. Then he opened the box in his hand and selected a small Bandaid from the assortment. He tossed the box on top of the mountain of reports, tore off the Bandaid's wrapper, and leaned back in his chair.
"Ah the glamorous life of a FBI team leader!" he announced, applying the Bandaid over the latest paper cut on his right index finger. He didn't use to have his desk stocked with the miniature bandages, not before moving up the ranks. Now he was fairly confident if he went scouting he'd be able to pull three or four half empty boxes from the various drawers in his desk.
He and his brother certainly were a pair. Charlie often emerged from the garage looking like he was ambushed by an army of chalk and Don left his office looking as if his hands had gone ten rounds with a forest's worth of paper. Don allowed a faint chuckle to escape his body. In the end, the chalk and the paper were always taken down by the Eppes brothers though. And many times the battles were much harder to win than the residual results of chalk covered clothes or Bandaid covered hands made them first appear.
Blowing out a long exhale Don slid down, crumpled, in his chair. He went over the evidence in his mind; the occurrence of talking to office furniture, a minor job related injury, and the time displayed on the corner of his computer monitor as 4:05am. The evidence always lead you somewhere and this particular day it built the case that maybe it was time to pack it in for this inning of the game.
"I don't suppose I could convince you fine pieces of FBI office decor to keep workin' while I'm gone, could I?" he inquired hopefully, finally propelling his weary body to a standing position. Retrieving the box of Bandaids from the stack of reports and tossing it back in the drawer, only silence filled the air.
"Guess not. What kind of team players are you?" he teased, smirking at the monitor. Again only silence responded.
"It's always the quiet ones," he remarked and began gathering up the papers, folders, and photographs. After collecting every last page he secured them in his desk, locked the desk drawer, and turned to the computer monitor. After saving and closing all his documents and spreadsheets he shut down the system he turned to the desk lamp.
"Packing it in for the night," he stated and switched it off.
"Agent Eppes, you've officially and finally gone off the deep end." Those were his departing words as he headed off through the maze of desks and offices. Two minutes later the cool predawn air splashed across his face as he exited out of the door of the FBI building. He paused for a few heartbeats, visually taking in the sights and sounds of the city at the early hour. There was always noise, a background static, even at such an hour. True quiet didn't exist inside city limits. Nor did the depths of darkness. It was a love hate relationship. In the city you were never really alone, keeping you ever alert and watchful. The mind was constantly soaking up and sifting through the sounds and sights, the constant stimulus created by mankind and of a place never truly at rest. There had been moments Don longed for quiet, just a few precious moments in which his mind could rest, and other times he was immensely grateful for that distraction, thousands of pieces of information to provide distraction and excuses from being alone in your own head. Tonight, or this morning rather, exhaustion trumped all that debris stacking up in his mind. He set out towards his SUV with the sole mission of going home and submerging himself in the luxurious comfort of his bed.
Even though his strides were not long or powerful he arrived at the parked vehicle quickly, unlocking it from a few feet before reaching the driver's side door. He slipped into the front seat and brought the vehicle to life. The interior of the car was instantly saturated with the pulse of a guitar riff. The unexpectedness of the blast of sound sent Don scrambling to reach the button on the console that would lower the volume to a level suitable for four a.m.. He jammed at the button with the tip of his index finger while reminding himself to always remember to turn down the radio before exiting the vehicle. There may have been a few profanities mixed in with the mental note writing. And even though his mother's scolding rang out inside his head still after all these years, he gave himself a pass. Just like the other thousands of times over the last two decades or so. It was late and they just wrapped up a monster of a trafficking case. A few choice curse words were certainly understandable under the circumstances. Blowing out a weighted breath he put the SUV in gear and headed out into the lonely streets of the early morning.
As the miles passed by Don found himself navigating in the direction of Charlie's. He had intended to go to his apartment and crawl into bed, staying there as long as possible. He figured he must have been so thoroughly exhausted that autopilot had clicked in and since he was more frequently at Charlie's and his father's place than his own that his body took that path. In fact he'd gotten as far as turning down their street before he was fully aware of what he had done. He pulled into the driveway and at first was simply going to turn around and head in the direction of his apartment. But he found himself rubbing at his face with his palms to stay alert and changed his plan. He'd use his key to sneak in and crash on the couch for a few hours. So he parked and sluggishly climbed out of the vehicle.
The house was dark and the neighborhood was quiet. The only other soul that seemed to be still awake in the vicinity was the newspaper delivery guy who was parked at the end of the block, gathering papers from his trunk. The thought raced across Don's brain that his work schedule was so far from normal that he wasn't sure there was a category for it. And suddenly felt oddly connected to the lanky blonde hippie looking newspaper guy. You had to be a little off center to be out working the wee hours of the morning.
This train of thought still meandering through his mind Don quietly unlocked the front door and slipped inside. There were sounds of movement from the kitchen. He suspected that perhaps Charlie had been pulling an all-nighter himself and gotten the munchies. It won't be the first time. Don made his way there and pushed open the door, finding his father instead of his little brother.
Alan jerked his gaze in Don's direction, responding to the noise. A rather surprised look captured the older man's face.
"Don?"
"Memory still intact I see," Don commented, moving to the refrigerator.
"Very funny. I was expecting your brother that's all."
"You're one step ahead of me than. I wasn't expecting to see anyone actually up."
"Why are you here at this hour? Everything alright?" Alan inquired and replaced the cap on the orange juice container. Don grabbed a beer and leaned against the edge of the counter. He didn't respond right away so Alan asked again.
"What's up Don?"
"Nothing. I just sort of…never mind."
"What?"
"Don't laugh."
"Okay, I won't laugh."
"I sort of drove here by accident."
"I don't understand."
"I left work and intended to go back to my apartment and ended up here. Since I was already here I thought I might catch a few Zs on the couch." A smile arrived on Alan's face, but he managed to hold back the chuckle that threatened to follow it. The fact that his son was always so unforgiving of himself for the smallest of human errors was a strange mix of concern and pride for Alan Eppes.
"You were just tired, Donnie. Happens to the best of us."
"Yeah, well, what if I had been on the job and drove to the wrong house."
"But you weren't. It worked out. And I, for one, am glad to see you. Even if it is at …" he paused and glanced at the microwave then continued, "four forty five in morning."
"Yeah you, me, and the newspaper guy are the only three morons still awake."
"Oak," Alan jumped in with.
"Oak?"
"Yes. Oak. That's the newspaper guy's name."
"You're serious? Someone actually named their child after a tree."
"It was the 60's."
"I guess I feel lucky my name's not Elm then."
"Yes you should. Speaking of papers I'll see if ours has arrived," Alan stated with a smirk and headed across the kitchen.
"A guy named Oak delivering newspapers," Don commented to himself as his father exited the kitchen. Don took a sip of beer and blew out a breath. Sleep was calling to him, but a brief visit with his father was inviting too. His cell phone ringing cut short the need to make an immediate decision. He put the beer down on the counter and grabbed the cell from his belt.
"Eppes."
"Agent Eppes. This is Bill Simmons."
"Agent Simmons. How are things in D.C.?" Don offered politely. He had only been introduced to Simmons a handful of times back when he had visited their office in Albuquerque.
"Good. Good. I realize it's early out your way so I won't keep you long."
"Appreciate it. What can I do for you?"
"Well, I know you have worked with and are acquainted with Agent Ian Edgerton?"
"Yes. Good agent."
"Yes he is. A pain in the ass, but good nonetheless."
Don let a chuckle escape into the phone. Edgerton could certainly be a pain the ass, but a pain the ass that was well worth your trouble.
"He wouldn't happen to have come through your territory recently would he?" Simmons slipped the question out calmly. The underlying hopeful tone of the inquiry didn't settle well with Don. His gut churned slightly and he swallowed hard.
"Not in six months or so. Is there a problem?"
"Just …doing some follow up." For an FBI agent the cover was lame at best. Although Simmons, if Don recalled correctly, had instantly presented himself as an agent happier to wear a paper pushing suit than bullet resistant vest. Good cover was probably not his forte.
"If you think he might have been through here more recently I would certainly offer my office's assistance in whatever he is working on," Don offered in a carefully worded prompting. Don was more certain with each passing second something was wrong.
"Appreciated. But we have it handled."
"We've just wrapped up our top priority case so my team is available to offer to be of service," Don stated, pushing back harder.
"Not necessary. I'm sure he'll..." Simmons began, but seemingly caught himself before letting something slip.
"Agent Simmons, I apologize for my bluntness but you are calling me at five in the morning. Now clearly the reason for your call is a matter of urgency. You are only delaying my team assisting you by not telling me why."
The other agent didn't respond verbally, but Don could make out the frustrated heavy exhaled breath from the opposite end of the line. There was a silent beat before Simmons cleared his throat and resigned himself to offering detail.
"Agent Edgerton was tracking someone in the Cascades. We are…currently unable to locate him."
"How long?"
"Last known contact was twelve days ago."
"Twelve days! And he hasn't been located. He's an agent for god sakes!"
"Agent Eppes you need to understand he doesn't exactly keep detailed notes as he goes. He just takes off, we try to keep up, and we make him do the paper later. Not to mention you certainly understand procedu…"
"No. No. I don't need to understand anything. Absolutely not. He is an FBI agent, a damn good one, and you're telling me he has been missing for two weeks and there's no progress! And he went MIA from the Cascades and you are calling me all the way down here in L.A. Do you have any leads at all?"
"You know as well as I do that it happens."
"No. What I know is that it's completely unacceptable!" Don snapped and slammed closed the phone. He managed to catch himself in half pitch about to hurl the cell at the wall. Instead he roughly replaced the phone back into its place on his belt and ran a palm through his hair. He turned left but suddenly realized he didn't know where he had intended on going. So he didn't actually head in any particular direction, just ended up making a pointless circle.
Agent Edgerton was missing. The thought danced around his mind, spinning and gliding through his thoughts. In the wildest creations of his imagination he never would have come up with that as an event that would ever actually come to be. This was Ian Edgerton. This was the Bureau's best tracker and one of their best marksmen. This was a damn good agent. Twelve days missing. If it weren't for the fact that Edgerton was, well, Edgerton this would certainly be a case of a mission to recover the body of an agent. But if a chance existed this is the agent who would skirt the odds. There was a definite possibility that Ian Edgerton was still alive, somewhere out there. And if he was he was probably in need of some back up and not the kind of back up Agent Simmons could provide. This was more than likely the shoot first, ask a lot of questions later, if possible, kind of back up.
Don ran his fingers through his disheveled hair again and began to pace.
"Don, what's wrong?" Alan asked, arriving back in the kitchen with newspaper in hand. Don only continued to pace from the counter to the wall and back, lost in his own internal distress.
"Don, what's wrong? What happened?" his father demanded. The stressed deeply worried look on his son's face shot a bolt of panic through him.
"Huh? What?"
"What happened?"
"I'm alright. I gotta go!" Don replied heading for the door. Fortunately, Alan was closer and intercepted the attempt with a large sidestep to the left.
"It's obvious something happened. Now tell me what's wrong? Is it Charlie?" his father's voice asked worriedly.
"Oh no Dad. Charlie's fine. I'm sorry if I scared you."
"Something with work then?"
"I really need to head out," Don prompted. Reluctantly his father stepped away from the door and Don departed through it rapidly.
"I'll take that as a yes," Alan stated to the empty air around him. Sometimes his son was a complete mystery to him. Don was definitely frazzled though so Alan trailed him out the through the doorway in hopes of making one final plea.
Luckily, Don had stopped, but not because he intended to talk. Charlie had appeared trotting excitedly up the driveway. Where exactly he had come from wasn't clear. It hadn't been the direction of the garage so he must have been off down the street somewhere on foot. It was obvious, at least to Don and Alan, there had been some theorizing and experiment taking place. Charlie was juggling more gear than he could handle gracefully. He had stopped right in front of Don, blocking his path. The near giddy grin on Charlie's face showed that whatever he had been doing had gone well. He was practically bouncing on his tip toes.
"Hey Don!"
"Hi buddy! What you got goin' on?"
'Well, I was down at the little park. Ya know down the street. Trying to determine if..." the younger man let his words drift off. Between the half interested and stressed expression covering his brother's face and the look his father shot at him it was clearly not the time to revel in his discovery. So he stopped talking and all three Eppes men just ended up standing there, stalled, for a moment.
Alan in his bathrobe and slippers. Young Dr. Eppes adorned with binoculars, camera, tripod, notebooks, gigantic backpack, and night vision goggles. And Don dressed in the world's most wrinkled clothes and looking like he hadn't slept in several months. Alan took the opportunity it presented to try and reel his elder son back in.
"Donnie, if it's something you wouldn't be breaking confidentiality for, you should talk to us. Clearly it's got you upset."
"You guys remember Ian Edgerton?" Don asked after a tense moment.
"The tracking guru?" Charlie responded.
"That's him."
"A friend of yours?" Alan asked, certain he'd heard the name before from both his sons but unable to place a face.
"Yeah. We've worked together before. He's an agent. Fugitive recovery."
"Oh yes. I recall him now. He back in town or something?"
"No. Actually he was tracking someone up in the mountains and he went missing."
"Doesn't he do that though? Just take off when he finds a lead?" Charlie jumped in with, sounding rather confused.
"Not like this Charlie. He's been out of contact for twelve days. Agent Edgerton wouldn't do that. Not for that long. The only reason for it is if something went seriously wrong."
"I'm sorry to hear that Donnie!" his father chimed in with. Charlie's voice trailed right after it.
"I'm sure he's fine Don. I mean from what I saw the guy can clearly find his way out of very precarious situations."
"Yeah I guess," Don replied. The hint of defeat in his son's voice didn't go unnoticed by Alan.
"Don, why don't you come back in. I'll make all three of us breakfast. When's the last time you ate? Got to eat, right?"
"I appreciate it Dad, but I really should head back out and see what I can do."
"I'm sure they have half the Bureau out searching for him."
"I know Dad, but…"
"Donnie?" Alan practically whispered. It was only one word, but its tone suggested that it was absurd for Don to race back out without food or sleep.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I need to work the search," Don replied and wearily made his way back to his SUV. Together Alan and Charlie watched him pull out of the driveway and into the street. Within seconds the SUV's taillights had melted away into the night.
"This Edgerton guy he's a good buddy of Don's?" Alan asked his younger son.
"Let's put it this way. I've been around Don quite a bit while he's on the job and I don't think I've seen him respect another agent the way he respects Ian Edgerton."
"Oh boy. We're in for a long haul on this one."
"You said it, not me," Charlie replied before trekking across the lawn towards the garage.
To Be Continued…